Dennis Wheatley - The wanton princess

Maitre Blanchard greeted him with enthusiasm and took him at once into the private parlour, in which he had enjoyed many a good meal cooked by Madame. As the stalwart Norman landlord relieved him of his steeple-crowned hat and heavy, many-caped grey travelling coat, that portly lady said, 'You must be tired and hungry. Monsieur le Colonel. Sit you by the fire while I order your old room to be got ready and our biggest warming pan put in the bed. Then I'll make you

your favourite omelette with mushrooms and half a dozen eggs.'

Blanchard nodded his round head, on which the fair hair was now thinning. 'Go to it, wife, while I get up two bottles of good full-bodied Burgundy wine with which to celebrate the return of our distinguished guest.'

A quarter of an hour later Roger was attacking the huge omelette with zest, while Blanchard was giving him the news of the day. 'You cannot imagine,' he said, 'how greatly the state of things has been bettered here during the seven weeks you have been away. The First Consul has proved himself a miracle worker and is bringing order out of the chaos we have suffered for so long. Whereas for many winters half Paris has nearly starved, food is now plentiful and reasonable in price. There are no longer queues outside the bakers' shops, property is again respected and the streets have become safe, even at dead of night.’

'That is good news indeed,' Roger replied. 'And what of the new Constitution? Has it yet been passed?'

'Not yet, but it should be soon. There can be little doubt of that, for General Bonaparte's popularity is now immense.'

The coup d'etat of Brumaire had taken place on November 9th. On the 11th Bonaparte, the Abbe Sieyes and his crony Roger Ducos had been appointed provisional Consuls and the sittings of the Legislative Assembly had been suspended pending the passing of a new Constitution. By December 13th its form .had been agreed and the sanction of the people to its acceptance asked in a national plebiscite. On that day too Bonaparte had succeeded in getting rid of his troublesome colleagues and having them replaced by Cambaceres and Lebrun.

This new instrument of government, known as 'The Con­stitution of the Year VIII.' was to consist of two Chambers: the Tribunate which could propose new laws but could not pass them, and a Legislative Assembly which had no power to initiate new legislation, but was to debate the measures put forward by the Tribunate and either pass or reject them. Superior to both, there was to be a Senate of conservative cider statesmen, whose function it was to appoint the members of both Chambers. Finally, on December 26th, the day Roger had left for England, the Consuls had announced the formation of yet another Body, that had not been men­tioned in the Constitution. This was a Council of State, to consist of not more than forty members: Generals. Admirals, lawyers and others who had distinguished themselves either before or during the Revolution. Its powers had not been stated but Roger, knowing Bonaparte so well, at once foresaw that before long he would rule through it, and the Chambers be reduced to no more than debating societies in which the members could air their opinions.

Tired after his long and uncomfortable journey from the coast, as soon as he had finished his meal Roger thanked the honest couple, asked them to excuse him and went to bed.

Next morning he unpacked one of the trunks that were always kepi for him at La Belle Etoile and donned his fine uniform with its gold epaulettes and the special sash of an A.D.C.. when he went out to call on Monsieur de Talleyrand. On his way to the Foreign Minister's he saw that, whereas when he had left Paris the streets had been filthy with litter, they were now clean and that the people in them, instead of having a sullen and often furtive look, were going about their business briskly with cheerful faces. These signs were the best possible evidence of the success of the measures that Bonaparte was taking.

On his return from exile in America, Talleyrand had at once resumed his old life as a grand seigneur, and now lived in a big mansion in the Rue du Bac. His major-domo received Roger as an old friend of his master's, said he would send in his name at once and showed him into a handsomely furnished room where a dozen people were waiting on the pleasure of the Minister. But Roger was there only for a few minutes, then the major-domo returned and conducted him across the hull to another room where Talleyrand was sitting, still at breakfast. With his usual charming manners he rose and invited Roger to join him. Roger had already break­fasted but he cheerfully accepted a good portion of truffled vol-au-vent and a glass of Chateau Lafitte.

Charles Maurice de Talleyrand-Perigord was now forty-six. His grandfather had been a Prince de Chalais, so he was descended from one of the greatest families of ancient France. As the eldest son of a Marquis he should have inherited the title and estates but a careless servant had dropped him while still an infant, causing an injury to his right leg that, through lack of proper attention, had made him lame for life. This rendered a military career impossible; so his father had disin­herited him in favour of a younger brother and forced him, much against his will, to go into the Church. Embittered by this, in '89 he had enthusiastically embraced the movement to curtail the authority of the Monarchy and nobility, and had become one of the most prominent leaders of the Liberal Revolution. When the National Assembly had repudiated the rule of Rome and sought to establish instead an independent Church in France, he had been the first Bishop to transfer his allegiance to it; but since his return from exile he had given up even the pretence of being a priest, and certainly no man could have been less fitted for such a role.

Handsome, elegant, witty, brilliantly intelligent, and he dressed always as a layman in the richest silks and satins, he had from the age of sixteen devoted himself to a life of debauchery. Many of the most beautiful women at the Court of Versailles, and most of those in Paris who had graced the salons during the dissolute period of the Directory, had been his mistresses. He was a cynic of the first order and venal to the last degree, having, since he had become Foreign Min­ister, amassed a great fortune in bribes. But he was already proving himself to be the greatest statesman of his age.

Unfailingly courteous, preserving always an unruffled calm, graceful in movement despite his limp, he was an aristocrat to his finger tips. His slightly retrousse nose gave his face an autocratic look, but humour lurked in his grey-blue eyes under their heavy lids, and his deep voice was beautifully modulated.

As Roger took his seat at table, Talleyrand asked, 'Well,

Monsieur L’Ambassadeur, what news out of England? Do you bring Peace in your pocket?'

Roger now had reason to thank his stars both that he had sent Broussalt ahead of him with an interim report and later been imprisoned in the Tower for a week. The first had conveyed the information that the British Cabinet was averse to peace, the second had given time enough for particulars to have reached France that the attack by the Opposition on Pitt had failed to bring about the fall of his Government. With a smile he replied:

'Your spies, Monsieur le Ministre, must be a sadly ineffi­cient lot if they have allowed you to suppose that I might have. It must be some days now since you learned how Mr. Pitt scattered the friends of peace like chaff before him in the debate on February 3rd.'

'Yes. He surpassed himself. One cannot but admire the man, ostrich-like though he has now become about realities.'

'True. 1 doubt though whether the First Consul will accept that as an excuse for my failure; and I am preparing myself with such fortitude as I can for him to order me to be bastinadoed.'